


Thor in his Chariot (1872)

by cjmarlowe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Art appreciation, Masturbation, Mirrors/Doubles, Other, kink bingo, mythology confronting reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor discovers the legacy he and his kind have left behind on Earth, and grapples with his relationship to that legacy now, as well as the ways that coming face to face with representations of his other self make him feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thor in his Chariot (1872)

It was Pepper who first gave him the idea, while doing what she called 'sourcing new art for Tony's corporate offices' and what Clint called 'shopping'. It was a job she took very seriously, though Thor was of the private opinion that Tony Stark hardly noticed the effort. Then again, this did not seem to be an effort she was making _for_ Tony, but rather on his behalf.

"Loki and the Giants," said Pepper, studying a catalogue from the upcoming auctions. "Lovely, but _not at all_ appropriate."

"What's this about Loki and the giants?"

"Oh, it's just a painting," said Pepper quickly. "I won't be bidding on it. It's not really my style anyway; I'm not sure there's anything up for auction this week that I'm particularly interested in."

"There's a painting of Loki and the giants?"

"It's not a portrait," said Pepper, closing the computer and looking up at him, one hand resting on the cover. She seemed concerned, which was only right because Thor found himself very concerned about this as well. "It's not of your brother, not really. It's just something an artist imagined, based on the old stories. It's probably really of his own brother, or his dentist."

"An artist painted Loki out of his imagination," said Thor. "I want to see it."

"It doesn't look anything like him," said Pepper, but Thor was familiar with artists whose works did not measure up to their opinion of themselves; his father had engaged several. The resemblance of the finished portraits to the subjects was sometimes questionable at best. Thor knew, of course, of the old stories. He knew what he and his kind had been to Midgard once, worshipped as gods. But since returning to a world so different from the one they remembered, he hadn't given it a lot of thought. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be relics of that time. That there would be writings. That there would be art. 

The catalog was still on the computer screen when he opened it up, but he saw nothing resembling Loki as he scrolled; he had to look at the titles of the pieces to find the one he sought.

"You're right," he said. "It looks nothing like him."

"How could it? There weren't a lot of cameras around the last time you were here."

There was an undercurrent of anger in her voice, but Thor knew—or at least he was reasonably sure—it was not aimed at him, or at the painting. Not for the first time he wanted to apologize for his brother's actions, but there was no apology for something like that, and he was not Loki's keeper, brother or not. Loki had to take responsibility for his own actions, and bear the weight of them himself.

"Are there pictures of me as well?" he asked. "Of my mother and father?"

"Probably of everyone you ever knew," said Pepper. "Not in that catalog, though. Those are just pieces up for auction this week. What you're looking for would be in museums and galleries." She still sounded reluctant to divulge the information, but at least she was not withholding it. 

"Museums."

"You could look online," said Pepper. "If you were really interested. I'm not sure I would be."

He was too curious not to now, though, no matter what she was worried he might discover. The picture of Loki could've been of a stranger, no part of it resembling the brother he knew. Would pictures of himself be similar? Was there anyone who remembered Thor as he was and not as they wished he'd been? Was there anyone who remembered at all? This world was very different from Asgard; it would serve him well to remember that more often.

He gave the computer back to Pepper and let her do her work again, returning to his own rooms and his own computer and looking for hours around the world at statues and carved stones and jewelry, reading stories and poems and epics, and seeing the paintings, bright spreads across canvas and wood and paper that showed times he remembered and faces he never knew.

There had always been something stirring about battle itself for Thor, and about the heroic deeds of himself and others, and so there was something stirring about seeing these pictures even though they were sideways from his memory. But it was also a different kind of stirring, awakening something strange and new in him, as though he'd discovered a tenth realm, one that blended the qualities of both his homes and was inhabited by peoples who exhibited the best qualities of both.

It was not enough to see them on this tiny screen, though. There were so many he found listed that had not been photographed, and those images that were available were tiny, lacking in color and detail. And Midgard was not so large a place that Thor could not go see them for himself.

"I'm going out," he announced to those of his friends sitting watching the television when he finally exited his rooms again.

"Sure, Thor," said Dr. Banner, without looking up. "Where you headed?"

"Denmark," he said, and though he noticed both Hawkeye and Dr. Banner turn around abruptly at that, he was already on his way out to the terrace with Mjölnir. Tony Stark would complain about the noise later, but there was no faster way for him to travel than this.

He arrived too early, to locked doors and closed signs, so instead he got himself breakfast at a place with little white tables outside, and was glad that they took the money that Tony Stark had given him even though they seemed to need to have a conversation about it just out of his earshot. Copenhagen first, then Stockholm, then wherever that might lead him. He left Paris off the list only because he'd promised Steve they would see the Louvre together some time.

He enjoyed the people of this great city, but he was in this city with one goal in mind and so the moment the museum doors opened he was heading inside.

Seeing the art in person filled Thor with great pride but it was also disconcerting, even more so than looking at the pictures in the privacy of his own bedroom. He was meant to be looking at himself and the people he knew, but instead he looked at strangers. Like the drawings children had given the Avengers after their battle in New York, recognizable only through their familiar symbols. Yet despite the unfamiliarity, these were still people he would have wished to know, people he would have been happy to have fight alongside him.

In one case, someone he would be happy to have in his bed. Was it still narcissism if the person you were attracted to was not _actually_ yourself?

It was in Stockholm he found the painting, placed innocuously on the wall next to many others but making such things rise up in Thor that he didn't know were possible, pride and nostalgia and disconnect and arousal all at once. He was looking at his own deeds as though performed by a stranger, or perhaps he was the stranger now. This man physically resembled him more than any other, though—not similar like a brother (for Loki had forever changed that notion) but not a doppelganger either. 

Back in the tower, Tony had shown them a film where an actor had played Captain America, one who resembled Steve but was clearly _not_ Steve; this, he thought, was much like that.

He understood there were films of his own ancient deeds on Midgard as well, but Thor had not made time for those yet.

"I wish to take this one," he said to the man in the uniform, pointing his finger at the painting.

The man looked alarmed for a few moments; Thor just waited to be served. Finally he said, "We have prints in the guest shop?" and Thor nodded, not entirely satisfied but it would have to do. He and Steve had visited art museums together in New York. Thor understood he could not take the painting off the wall and take it with him, despite what he felt were valid claims to ownership.

The man looked very relieved when Thor turned to leave.

He did not head straight back to New York with his prize, nor did he proceed to the next gallery on his list. He followed the signs to the nearest public toilet, a place he knew he could be immediately alone, and unrolled the print, holding it against the back of the stall door with one hand and using the other to loosen his trousers.

For this was a warrior whose deeds were surely great and whose body was sculpted in all the ways that Thor admired; he was not sure why he felt his blood pump harder because it was supposed to be _him_ , but he could not deny that it did. The pulsing that he'd been feeling in his veins all day was at its height now, here, with this, but it was more than curiosity and connection, it was a raw sexual interest in the man who carried the mantle of his name and his history.

And it was also a homesick yearning, for a life that both allowed him to be this man and allowed him to _have_ this man, in a way the Midgardian people he knew did not, could not, understand. 

He was not shamed by his arousal, nor his intention to follow through to his completion, but it made him feel like a man out of place; Thor felt he belonged here in very many ways, but there were moments he was acutely aware of what the word 'alien' really meant. He was himself and he was the man in the picture, and in this world, on Midgard, which was the more real?

Such philosophical questions did more to fuel his arousal than curb it; the more he thought about who this was, and who he was, the more he got caught up in the escalating sensations. For if he could not enjoy his own company, then whose could he enjoy?

He ruined the poster when he came, splashing over his chariot, onto the horns of a goat, but not on his own face. It dripped down before soaking into the paper, warping it, and Thor looked into his not-face and tried to understand the people who saw him that way. Tried to understand how who he'd been had become the myth he now encountered.

Maybe this was something he was not meant to understand. It did matter to him what people thought of him, what they believed, but not more than it mattered who he was and what he did _now_. He could love the man he'd been and the man he was now equally.

He stuffed the poster in the bin beneath a wad of paper towels and bought himself another before leaving, not to repeat the experience (because it was a moment in time and could not be relived) but because he thought perhaps he should be reminded of the power of his choices, and the fact that he would continue to leave a legacy behind him, that should he return again in a thousand years there would be a whole new series of myths to reconcile himself to.

He wondered if he would react the same way to those, but that was a concern for another day. Right now he was going to tour a few more museums and then return home to his companions and live this life, before he concerned himself with the pieces he left behind.


End file.
